


Don't Mess with Ma's Boy

by truc



Series: Superbatweek 2020 [7]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Justice League, Superman (Comics)
Genre: Batman hates Metropolis, Clark Kent as a criminal, Clark Kent as his Ma's enforcer, Clark has a crush on Matches, Don't mess with the Kents!, First Meeting, Fluff, M/M, Mafia AU, Metropolis and Gotham's rivalry, Mild Language, Silly, but a good guy, mention of Intergang, superbatweek 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25635007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truc/pseuds/truc
Summary: Welcome to Metropolis! Don't mess with Ma's Boy or he'll mess with you.Day 7 of the superbatweek 2020, prompt: Mafia AU.
Relationships: Superman/Batman
Series: Superbatweek 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1841941
Comments: 16
Kudos: 118





	1. Matches Malone

Finding a perfect stakeout spot was a skill Matches had refined over the years. However, he had rarely used that skill in a city other than Gotham. 

His usual go-to techniques failed to deliver the needed result; here, contrary to Gotham, everything was illuminated, even dodgy Mafia meetings. On the surface, this should have made his job easier, not harder; that wasn't true. Since being unnoticed held an essential part in a stakeout, melting into the shadows, an endeavour achieved effortlessly enough in Gotham (even in the middle of the day), was his preferred technique. Here, every goddam streets were luminously light even in the dead of night! 

Metropolis happened to be anyone suffering from photophobia's worst nightmare. And that wasn't even touching on the light pollution's damages the city was directly accountable. 

_The City of Tomorrow_ , Matches wryly thought, _my ass, more like the City of Insomniacs._ He should know; he was one of them.

Not only were all streets vividly illuminated (waste of taxpayers' money, Matches grumbled), they were also tightly monitored with cameras. In Gotham, you had to have cameras monitoring cameras because people stole cameras to sell them on the black market. 

_Gothamites were nothing if not ingenious and scrappy citizens_ , Matches reminisced with pride, _not like these phonies_. 

Matches took out his binoculars, the conventional ones, and looked at the ongoing mafia meeting. He recognized all the players. 

Firstly, Perry White, the man in charge of the Metropolis distribution network; loyal and steadfast, he ran a tight ship. White-haired and sturdy looking, the man chewed on his cigar and frowned all the time. No one in this business should undervalue his experience of the Metropolis criminal underworld and dynamic leadership.

Second, Lois Lane, the witch or so they called her on the streets, worked the Mafia's informants' network, efficient to the bone and brilliant. A petite brunette woman of prodigious resources, Lois was not a woman to be underestimated. Her ambition had lead her to ascend in Ma's organization at lightning speed. Case in point, the police had yet to accomplish a successful bust directly linked with the Kent family's business. 

Third, Jimmy Olsen, the errand boy, a freckled and lanky man looking underwhelming for such a promising organization; however, word on the street was that he was more nimble than he appeared. Although he seemed like the Kent's weak point, appearances were deceiving and treacherous if you read the reports. 

Lastly and more importantly, there was Clark Kent, Ma's Boy. Despite his polite and innocuous bespectacled demeanour and appearance, this broad provincial man was the most dangerous of them all. Although he always tells people "good morning" with a bright smile, he also breaks someone's legs without breaking a sweat. 

Besides, that man was the one responsible for chasing the Intergang from Metropolis. Matches wasn't about to underestimate such a man, especially not in his playing field.

Matches shifted his position on the rooftop, attempting to read the lips of the four major players of Ma's crew in Metropolis. He could only read bits of pieces of their weekly meeting; mostly, it seems, they were worried about Intergang coming back in force. Whispers had fallen in Lane's ears, whispers of revenge and power. Jimmy, on the other hand, recounted how some of their contractors were skittish around him in recent days. Even Perry, with his bellowing manners, indicated the unrest in Metropolis's underworld was palpable and alarming. Through it all, Ma's Boy took note of everything in an old fashioned notepad- hadn't he heard of laptops or cellphones?-. He didn't appear bothered or greatly alarmed with the information. 

It could be arrogance, or worse, evidence-supported confidence. Matches didn't like it one bit as Matches sipped coffee. After an hour or so, Ma's top Metropolis's players took a break. 

Matches looked at the annoyingly sunny sky and wondered if he should head back home or stay. 

"What are you doing up here?" a polite question came from behind. _Fuck._

Matches turned around to see Ma's Boy a few paces away from him, looking disarmingly innocent despite the massive muscles barely hidden by his hideous oversized shirt. 

With binoculars on hand, Matches's best excuse was one of the most basic ones in the book. "Birdwatch'ng."

Ma's Boy smiled as if Matches was impressive for birdwatching. Then, he stepped closer, all of Matches's internal alarms setting off in warning. "Oh, I didn't think mid-day was the best time to catch them," Ma's Boy said, no trace of threat in his tone, only mild confusion. 

Matches shrugged. "I work night shifts. Can't rise in the early morning or catch them at dawn, can't I?"

Ma's Boy nodded as his eyes turned to examine the binoculars. "What kind of bird are you looking for?"

Matches frowned- even a Metropolitan would refuse to answer a random series of questions. "What's it to you?"

Ma's Boy pushed his glasses up. "I'm curious, you see, on why a birdwatcher would have his binoculars fixed on a specific window for over an hour." 

_Was he caught?_ Matches preferred to play dumb to stall for time. "A damn bad one, if you ask me." His empty hand crawled toward in his pocket. 

The bespectacled flannel-wearing criminal shook his head. "You've been spying on me. You must know who I am, yet, you're still cool as a cucumber. I am impressed. I didn't think there was someone this level-headed or crazy working for Intergang." 

_Kent's conclusion was the worst one possible_ , Bruce thought. Outwardly, he squinted his eyes at the tall man looming above him. He needed to regain his footing; besides, it was an excellent opportunity to gain information. 

Matches pushed himself upright. "Well, your intel is dead wrong. I ain't working for Intergang; I free-lance in Gotham."

This statement caught Kent's attention. "You're from Gotham?" His eyes scrutinized him from top to bottom, possibly to judge whether Matches was fibbing again. 

"Born and raised," Matches proudly announced with his chest puffing in a non-feigned pride. 

"I thought most Gothamites avoided Metropolis like demons avoided holy water," Kent commented with slightly mocking curled lips. 

Matches grimaced as he inserted a toothpick in his mouth. "More like Metropolis's a deathtrap waiting to close on its jaws on its people. Gothamites are smart enough to avoid getting lulled by a false sense of security."

Amused, Ma's Boy said, "Although I would love to flirt with you until sundown, I'm afraid there are people waiting for me right now."

Matches rolled his eyes. He only wanted to avoid unnecessary conflict with the newest regional wild card. "Who's keep'ng you from your 'mportant stuff?"

"However," Kent continued as if Matches hadn't said anything. He stepped right into Matches's bubble, his breath tickling Matches's face, his eyes investigating him from behind the bland eyeglasses. "Seeing how you're a new face in town, I'd like to get better acquainted."

"I don't intend to stay," Matches willfully answered, "Metropolis is ugly as an ass, as smelly too."

Kent's eyes smiled, amused, as he whispered, "Maybe you can make an exception?" 

Matches looked right into the deep blue eyes that were way too cheerful for such a young and powerful criminal element. " **Can't** ," Matches asserted with emphasis. 

Ma's Boy's hand found Matches's arm and squeezed lightly. "I'm afraid I have to insist. Visitors need tour guides in new cities or, awful things might happen to them." All very polite and correct. _There wasn't even a hint of a threat if you didn't know Kent's profession_ , Bruce thought. 

Gritting, Bruce muttered. "Fine."

Beaming, Kent wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Let's go. I've got so much to show you."

Bruce quietly reaffirmed his escalating hatred for Metropolis. 


	2. Ma's Boy

Born and raised on an ordinary farm in Middle-of-Nowhere Kansas, Clark Kent grew up as a poster boy of normality. That is until his parents' farm business failed after that year's crop's value depreciated to the point they couldn't pay their cost of operation. Facing bankruptcy, the Kent choose to grow a different type of product, one illegal in their state, to keep their farm afloat.

Hardworking people as they were at everything they set out to accomplish, the Kent started to produce good results. With the open secret that they were harvesting marijuana (the local law turned a blind eye to the illegality of the well-liked family's business), part of their community helped them form a reliable distribution network. Before long, the Kent had employed two workers full-time and, they redistributed some of their newfound wealth among the struggling farming town. Nobody there begrudged their small bit of luck.

In their county, however, the story was a bit different. Unbeknown to the Kents, their local industry had offended a small criminal organization in the next 'big' centre. Warnings came. The Kents didn't take kindly to the intimidation techniques. Insofar as they were pacific folks, they chased the men from their farm when their intentions became increasingly insidious. After some escalating incidents and seeing how the Kents were well-liked in their town, the local criminal organization had to set an example.

When a 'punishment' went sideways, the Kents' patriarch died at the organization's hands. That incident turned everyone in Middle-of-Nowhere Kansas against them.

Rallying her townpeople, Ma, Clark's mother, took over the criminal organization's head of the operation. She decimated her rival's assets and chased him and his posse out of their county. The townpeople acclaimed her.

Soon after, Ma Kent, the matriarch, decided they had to become stronger to protect their business. With the newly taken over organization's resources, Ma revamped their modus of operation, though she had kept some of the business's other products in their distribution network. This opportunity was the chance to save her town from a slow death into obscurity, a future more and more agricultural-based town now faced.

Ma was a visionary mafia boss. With her newly acquired assets, she helped the folks from her town build a butcher's shop, a cheese factory, an artisanal carpet weaving facility and many more business opportunities. Clark had been so proud of his mother. He still was.

When the distribution became an issue, Clark, always supporting his mother in her dreams, offered to resolve it. His Ma would have preferred to keep him close to her, but her son explained that not only were the fledgling business in need of such an opportunity, Clark too had to fly on his own. Reluctantly, Ma accepted that he would create a distribution network in Metropolis.

Excited and young, Clark had gone ahead, faced challenges, met people and had grown. He'd learned how to hurt people without giving them long-lasting injuries. He'd learned how to manage the up-and-coming business distribution model and found the right people to help lead it.

Perry had been the easiest to find. Highly recommended from anyone in the criminal underworld, Clark had only needed to convince him that Ma's vision wasn't a fantasy, but that they had everything necessary to actualize it.

He then found Jimmy Olsen when the man tried to steal his wallet. Impressed with his survival instinct, Clark had quickly become friends with the man.

Lois had been an experience altogether different. She was also the one with the most lovely reactions.

"Smallville," she said in a hushed angry tone, "Who is _that_ guy?" Lois pinched her lips, her eyes narrowed.

It wasn't hard to see why she was reacting like this to Clark bringing a stereotypical small fry looking-criminal with him to their meeting.

Clark was proud to say, "He's the best liar I've ever encountered." That was quite a rare find.

Lois's stare only intensified.

"I found him on the next building with binoculars on hand. Although he had been aiming them at this room for the entire length of our meeting, he told me he was birdwatching. Even with my heightened senses, I totally couldn't tell he was lying."

Lois didn't congratulate him on his find. Instead, she turned her gaze at the purple-wearing, sleazy looking walking embodiment of criminal henchmen playing with a match or toothpick in his mouth. "Have you tortured him yet?" she whispered, hopeful.

Clark tilted his head. "You know how I feel about torture to get information. Besides, I doubt I'd get anything truthful from him."

" **Smallville!** He might be working for Intergang."

"I doubt it. At most, that man is a freelance operator. He convinced me that he's a genuine Gothamite article."

Lois's fingernails stabbed his upper arm. "You just told me he's the best liar you've ever seen!"

Clark explained, "He told me that Metropolis would lull us to sleep and eat us all up; he glances at everything warily as if it's a trap; he bristled every time I asked questions; he genuinely hates the mere mention of Metropolis with a passion. Moreover, look at his dark clothing on a sunny day while he doesn't work for any professional outfit."

Clark's colleague reluctantly admitted, "That does sound like the acute Gotham prejudice syndrome. Especially the city personalization aspect of it and utter disdain for Metropolis. Maybe he _ **is**_ from Gotham. That makes him _more_ dangerous, not less."

"It does," Clark agreed with a polite smile. "Remember when Deathstroke was running around, trying to murder me?"

 _How could she forget?_ "Yes."

"My intuition tells me this man is even more dangerous." Of course, like the absurd man he was, Clark appeared giddy at the prospect of a challenge.

Lois craved to either slap Clark silly or facepalm. "You brought an **_extremely_** suspect and dangerous man to our headquarters and, you _don't_ want to procure information from him?"

"Of course I want," Clark said with a dismissive shrug. "But, we shouldn't pry into his business before giving him a neighbourly welcome. He's probably only curious about his new neighbour. I'll show him around town."

Lois had known Smallville was an oddball criminal from the start; he was the one, after all, who convinced her, a former FIB agent job-hunting after getting fired for refusing to follow her idiotic boss, to become part of the mafia. His winning argument? A criminal organization could be more efficient at cleaning up the worst crimes (murders, human trafficking and juvenile prostitution). The worst was that he had been right.

In charge of Ma's growing information network, Lois could use her position to help the most vulnerable while still attaining reasonable profits, a feat her time at the FIB hadn't granted.

How Clark's smalltown's charms worked in Metropolis was still a mystery to Lois.

"You found him spying on us; he lied to you when you confronted him and, now, you want to go on a _date_ with him? Do you even _know_ how criminal businesses operate?" Lois asked, not for the first time.

Clark blushed faintly below his ridiculously large glasses. "But he's so adorable! He isn't scared of me; he's talented and smart; I like him."

"He seems feral like a wildcat, Smallville. I bet he's just waiting to tear your arm off."

"See? That _**is**_ adorable," Clark genuinely answered, a twinkle in his eyes.

For invulnerable people, maybe it was, Lois reasoned, disgusted with how her argument had failed to garner the right response.

"I'll let you know what I learned about him later, okay, Lois?"

"Fine. If that outsider does tear your arm off, don't say I didn't warn you."

Clark winked at her and took the stranger's arm. In response, the man reflexively flinched away.

Lois could hear Clark talk about all the Metropolis's tourists' traps Clark was saying he'd bring the stranger to visit. The sour look on the man's face was refreshingly appalled.

Maybe Clark was right: forcing a Gothamite to see all the corniest Metropolis's attractions might be worse torture than any physical acts he may impose on him.

Was Clark a genius or the most oblivious fool she ever met?

She still hadn't decided.

**Author's Note:**

> That's it, folks. I've successfully completed Superbatweek prompts for the week. It may not all be my finest work (some of them were a bit rushed), but I liked the opportunity to try my hand at different literary techniques or plot devices or Superbat representation.
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and comments!


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